


There Is Only One Bed, and Firemen Are Hot

by jujubiest



Series: PoI Ficlets [8]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: 40 Tropes Story Meme, Firemen Are Hot, M/M, Request Fill, TV Tropes, There Is Only One Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 40 Tropes Story Meme on tumblr: Pick a TV Trope and a ship. The lovely Eriakit requested "There Is Only One Bed" or "Firemen Are Hot" for Rinch. So I decided why not both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Is Only One Bed, and Firemen Are Hot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eriakit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eriakit/gifts).



> Un-beta'd, written in the moments between putting out fires at work. Forgive me if it's ridiculous or awful.

****Harold had never considered himself the type to fetishize the uniform of any profession. He found it more than a little strange to be more titillated by the clothes a person wore than by the person themselves.

Then he glanced over from his computer screen and saw John shrugging his way out of the black and yellow fireman’s tunic, and realized he had completely misunderstood. It wasn’t about the _uniform_ , but rather how John looked in it….and the flurry of vivid notions his imagination supplied at the sight of John’s body encased in the low-slung, flame-resistant overtrousers and the thin white t-shirt that hugged every curve of the lean muscles underneath.

John was watching him with a question in his eyes. Harold blinked and turned back to his screen. Perhaps he still found it strange, but he also understood it now.

“Everything alright, Harold?” Of course John wouldn’t just let the staring go. Harold pursed his lips.

“I’m fine,” Harold responded tersely. He had too much to do, too many things to worry about, to allow himself to get caught up in silly fantasies. There were numbers, and Decima was no doubt closing in on making Samaritan an active system, and—

John was tugging the t-shirt off over his head with one hand. Harold’s brain stalled like a faulty car, his hands stilling on the keys.

John paused, peeked over at him from under the edge of the shirt.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m…just tired, Mr. Reese,” Harold said, cursing the slight quaver in his voice. John seemed to accept the answer, however, as he went right back to pulling off his clothes, going now for the loose waistband of the overtrousers. Harold wasn’t sure whether he could count that as a victory or not.

“Well, it’s been a long day, and it’s late. You could always quit for the night and get some sleep in the crash room. That’s what I plan to do.”

“Might I remind you that there is only one bed in the crash room?”

John fixed him with a look. “I’m aware of that, Harold.”

He managed to finish disrobing down to his boxers and socks—the floor of the library was always cold—and disappear from the room before Harold could make his stuttering brain formulate any kind of reply. When it did, it wasn't with words but with actions.

Harold saved his work and sent his computer into sleep mode before getting to his feet and turning toward in the general direction of the crash room. He considered a moment, before making a three foot detour to grab the fire tunic from where John had discarded it on the little couch. Then he headed through the narrow aisle between shelves that lead to the crash room.


End file.
